Promise of the Heart
by Yami no Kaiba
Summary: When Syaoran sleeps, he still meets his other self. SyaoranSyaoran


**Title:** Promise of the Heart  
**Author:** Yami no Kaiba  
**Fandom:** Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles  
**Rating:** R  
**Pairing:** Syaoran/Syaoran

**Summary: **When Syaoran sleeps, he still meets his other self.  
**Disclaimers: **I do not own the characters or the concepts of Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles. CLAMP owns them.  
**Note:** A little after the Acid Tokyo arc in the manga.

* * *

Syaoran huddled in a corner of the room on his designated bed, ignoring the polite shutout that the rest of the group had directed at him without saying a word of protest, watched silently as they continued bickering pleasantly between themselves. Noting that his cape had shifted open once again to reveal his uncle's crest, he pulled it fruitlessly closed once more, sure that it would merely gape open again to reveal the mark of ownership his uncle had placed on him. 

It was, after all his **uncle** that had placed the charm to keep Syaoran from ridding himself of the man's crest in the first place. He knew his uncle's sadistic humor and overblown ego well enough that he didn't put it past the man to place a spell on the design to make the crest eye-catching and visible to all that looked upon him.

Besides, the constant appearance of that crest created subconscious reminders to those he traveled with that he was not the boy they knew -- most likely a planned psychological attack by Fei Wong.

So he watched as detachedly as possible as the others interacted in such a way that he was virtually ignored. He kept a tight leash on his emotions, since his dejection turning to frustration and anger that he would then direct at them due to his unrealized hopes would not be fair to them. Especially as he was fairly positive that these two men, girl, and living magical construct had no conscious desire to be spiteful towards him for his own actions.

He knew it was unconscious, but it still hurt to be treated as nothing. Yet, he also knew that there was something inherently wrong with him, that he took that hurt and its resulting emotions of sadness and loneliness and held them close to his heart with wonder.

It had been so **long** since he'd felt anything… While it was true that he had watched everything his clone had gone through while he had been imprisoned by Fei Wong, the loss of 'freedom' had been more than just the restriction of his movements. It had been the restriction of his emotions as well, deadened by the magic to slow his resistance against his prison.

There had been so many times, when he'd been watching his clone do such simple things as **reading** and feeling the washed-out feeling of simple **contentment** from the boy whom shared his face through the half of the heart he'd given the other…

Had wanted to share his own thoughts of those very books with his other, to have a friendly chat about the different styles between the author of one book and another on a similar subject.

To share the other Syaoran's experiences hand-in-hand with him, side-by-side.

But he'd been too weak… His magic depleted and only replenishing itself by the smallest droplet a day into the reservoir of his power, drawing strength from the severely dulled emotions trickling into him from only the strongest of the other Syaoran's emotions.

And even then when he'd faced off against his mirror self, with a full heart unclouded and free for the first time in years… He had still been too weak.

Too weak to save him. Too weak to protect him. Too weak to end the other Syaoran's life before he became a slave to his uncle.

He'd given up so much… And he had still not been strong enough to protect the one he had allowed to be closest to his heart. And all because while he'd been living in depravation and captivity, slowly crawling back to his previous strength, his mirror had been living life in freedom and growing stronger at each opportunity.

Shifting his position, he laid down and curled his legs up to his chest, wrapping the folds of his cape around himself for the added warmth. Shutting his eyes and willing his body to relax and prepare for sleep, Syaoran wished, not for the first time, that his father was still alive.

If only…

But no. As Xing Huo had known when she had helped him, the dream had to end.

* * *

…_help me…_

Syaoran shivered, clamping down on the fear rising in his heart. These days, he despised sleeping. But he knew better than to force himself to stay awake until his system crashed.

…_I never wanted…_

Soulless mismatched eyes stared into his own, a backdrop of a burning village surrounding the both of them. Slaughtered bodies and bloody body parts were strewn about, left where they fell without care or sympathy for the dead.

…_to hurt them…_

The brown-haired boy never smiled at him. "You again," the other Syaoran stated in monotone, shifting his grip on his blood-slicked sword, flames dancing along the blade and leaving the strong stench of boiling and burning blood in the air. His other hand curled and clenched around the feather in his hand until it was engulfed in dark dimensional magic, sending it back to Fei Wong. "Why do you continue to come?"

…_to kill them._

Why, indeed? Syaoran blinked, his second sight catching the glimpse of the threads of control that cocooned his other's form. "I'm stubborn like that," he replied with a shrug, bringing his astral hands together and summoning his own sword.

…_I believe…_

The other Syaoran's head cocked at an angle too graceful for any human, and he smiled sharply but emptily, mismatched eyes becoming heavy lidded. "You are a fool. The outcome will not change."

…_in you…_

"You never know," he whispered back, body shifting into its natural ready stance. "Perhaps it will today."

…_no matter what you do, please…_

The other Syaoran smiled that empty smile once more, leaping forward without any other warning to clash blade against blade.

…_just end it._

Focusing, Syaoran pushed the whispers into the back of his mind -- the whispers of a heart chained and controlled in undesired submission.

* * *

Lightning crackled and danced around his shield, pushing against his will. Sweat slipped uncomfortably down his neck, and Syaoran struggled to keep the magic shield up just a little longer, just a few seconds more for the magic of his other to spend itself harmlessly-- 

The air tingled with magical discharge, and he could feel his chest tighten in fear. Just as the lightning faded, a massive wave of fire took its place, rolling over the small orb he had incased himself in.

He could feel the strain, and he hastily started another spell, knowing there was only time for damage control--

It only took seconds for the shield to crack and shatter into thousands of shards of concentrated magic that melted away into thin air.

Then there was nothing **but** pain, engulfing him, eating away at him, both his metaphysical body and his very core. Heat so powerful that the sensation of burning only lasted for a timeless flash of agony before deadening those senses with the very overload of its intensity. It took all of his concentration not to scream and invite that same fire into his body.

His second spell kicked in, finally. It neutralized the fire, but the damage was already done. Shaken, Syaoran breathed in the fresh air--

Quick movement in his peripheral, and Syaoran screamed mentally at his fatigued muscles to bring his sword up to block--

Hot metal, piercing through his skin, ripping through his muscles, and Syaoran was screaming as the sword of his other was pushed agonizingly slowly straight through his right shoulder and into the brick stone of the building he'd been using to guard his back.

Mismatched eyes and an empty smile filled his wavering sight as tears pricked in his eyes. "You're still too weak, Syaoran."

Of course. He'd always been, and always would be too weak, wouldn't he? He wasn't his father… And he'd never live up to that man's reputation.

Why did he even bother?

…_I believe in you…_

Closing his amber eyes, he felt a self-deprecating smile pull at his lips. "And you still have your own heart buried under all of that programming, Syaoran," he replied back, his eyes slitting back open as the fatigue of the fight fully caught up with him. "And as long as you have a heart, I promise--

"I won't stop trying to free you."

He could see those strings of control glinting as they quivered, dipping and creating slack. Those mismatched eyes flash with emotion for the first time since this entire daily repetition began, and Syaoran couldn't help but smile tenderly at the wide-eyed astonishment he saw there.

Dropping his sword, the emerald glinting as the spell imbedded in it activated and pulled the weapon back into its dimensional pocket for later use, Syaoran raised his left hand to cup his mirror image's cheek and ran a thumb across those lips.

"I love you, my other self," he whispered, and ignoring the pain of the sharp sword's edge cutting through more muscle and tissue in his shoulder, he twisted along its blade to lean forward and kiss the other Syaoran.

He hadn't meant for it to last long, for he had expected his uncle's control to snap into place and his other's heart to be buried once more in the darkness of Fei Wong's manipulations.

But when his other reciprocated with a sense of urgency and desperation, Syaoran responded in kind, even as he felt the prickling stirring of the sense his time in this astral form was coming to an end, the body he was in fading from the world his other was in.

When his form became to insubstantial for either of them to feel the sense of touch anymore, they pulled back, and Syaoran could only watch in despair with his second sight as the strings around his other self tightened, the slack that had been in them only moments before disappearing.

"I'll be back," he whispered, staring at now soulless eyes as he flickered between one dimension and another.

…_I'll be waiting, Syaoran._

* * *

Syaoran woke to a harsh shake. Blinking, he looked up to see Kurogane standing above. 

"It's time to go, kid," the man said roughly, eyes flickering down to Syaoran's visible shirt, before looking over at the wall.

Smiling sadly, and pulling his open cape closed once more to hide his uncle's crest, Syaoran nodded. "I'm ready."

He was going to save his other self, or die trying.

-- Fin.


End file.
